


Bleu et Jaune

by AVegetarianCannibal



Series: Slice of Life [9]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Fine Dining, France (Country), French cuisine, M/M, Shopping, eating to excess, fancy cannibals, upset tummy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-11
Updated: 2018-10-11
Packaged: 2019-07-28 22:27:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16251047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AVegetarianCannibal/pseuds/AVegetarianCannibal
Summary: Somewhere between embarking on their road trip through France and making their way to Italy for their nuptials, Hannibal and Will have to do a little bit of shopping in a really big store. Can their relationship survive the retail world?





	Bleu et Jaune

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shukkhy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shukkhy/gifts).



**L'arrivée**

 

A monolithic building comes into view, imposing in its sheer scale. A veritable sea of automobiles surrounds it. As he drives, Will glances over at Hannibal. His face is drawn and pale. His lips part in a horrified little gasp.

"Will, _no_ ," he whispers.

"You agreed to it," Will reminds him.

"You took advantage of me," Hannibal says, shaking his head with increasing vigor as Will turns the rental car towards the parking lot. "I wasn't in my right mind."

"Come on, it needs to be done," Will says. "The chalet we're renting next week comes without linens and a lot of other essentials. That's why it was so cheap."

"We'll rent someplace more expensive," Hannibal says, his tone one of pleading. "Or-or shop at a different establishment. We're not hurting for money."

"Sporadic bargain-hunting helps keep us off the radar." Will reasons with him. "We need to offset your and Cephi's clothing sprees now and then. For Christ's sake, I've _seen_ you planning her bespoke wardrobe for spring."

Hannibal turns in his seat, fixing him with a haughty look. "It's not _my_ fault Hermes doesn't have ready-to-wear for dogs."

Will parks as close as he can to the entrance, which isn't especially close considering how crowded the place is. Everyone from within a 10-mile radius of Lyon must be here. Hannibal gazes warily at the immense blue and yellow sign that both beckons to them and warns them all at once.

"If there was ever any doubt that I love you above all else," Hannibal says, "let that doubt die here and now in the parking lot of this... this... _Ikea_."

 

* * *

 

**One day earlier...**

 

Throughout much of the drive to Lyon, Hannibal has been talking up a restaurant by the name of L’Auberge du Pont de Collonges.

"As I told you the second time we met," Hannibal reminds him, "I have always preferred to cook for myself."

"But you make an exception for this place?" Will asks. Cephi snoozes in his lap while Hannibal drives.

"For this _chef_ ," Hannibal specifies. "If I'm not to prepare my own meal, then Monsieur Paul Bocuse is a welcome substitute."

Will laughs loud enough to make Cephi grumble. "I like how you praise him by comparing him to yourself," he says. "If only Michelin stars were awarded for cannibal cuisine."

Hannibal huffs. “It’s not the meat — it’s what the chef does with it. You never noticed how vile human liver is simply because of my artistry.”

They check into their hotel for showers — taken individually lest they get distracted while sharing — and to change into fresh clothes for their dinner date. When Will walks out of the bathroom and sees what Hannibal is wearing, he almost chokes on his own startled gasp.

Hannibal turns this way and that in front of the triptych mirror, checking himself from every angle. His suit is a bright sapphire blue velvet that Will doesn't remember noticing in his luggage before. The buttons are antiqued silver, cast in the shape of roaring lions' heads. The shirt underneath is, against all odds, a shade of burgundy that is almost purple, and the neatly knotted bow tie is an iridescent black that shows shimmers of burgundy to match the shirt. It looks like some kind of exotic butterfly perched at his throat.

It takes Will a while to find his voice. "I know you're fond of... visually striking clothes... but this seems like a bit much."

"I assure you, I will not be out of place," Hannibal tells him. "If anything, I am dressed rather plainly compared to the decorative milieu of our destination."

Indeed, when their taxi later deposits them outside the restaurant, Will suddenly understands.

The building stands against the clear black of the night sky like a Christmas tree — not for its shape, but for its bright green and red coloring, its gold trim and the chef's name written in lights. It's festive and kitschy and over-the-top like an attraction inside an amusement park. Will doesn't know what he was expecting out of Hannibal Lecter's favorite restaurant, but it was either _exactly_ this or exactly the _opposite_ of this.

Beside him, Hannibal is vibrating with such excitement that he doesn't even notice his velvet suit is sporting more than a sprinkling of Cephi's hairs.

***

Hannibal sleeps late into the morning.

Will has time to take Cephi for a brisk walk around the block, find her a reputable dog daycare, drink two cups of strong coffee, and he _still_ finds Hannibal sprawled across the bed when he returns to the room.

"Babe, we're wasting daylight," he says, slapping Hannibal's bare ass cheek. "Time to get up."

"Let's sleep in," Hannibal mumbles into his pillow. 

"You promised me we'd go shopping," Will reminds him. "Remember?"

Hannibal growls as he lifts up his head just enough to peer at Will with one eye. "When? When did I promise you? You're making it up. This is, at long last, your true reckoning."

"Last night," Will says. "Just before you fell into bed to sleep off two dishes of foie gras with passion fruit reduction, half a truffled chicken that arrived at our table in a weird globe thing, a lobster casserole, _another_ foie gras, a cheese plate and an entire rum cake."

"The cake was _très petit_ ," Hannibal defends himself, but begins to roll his way out of bed. He winces and rubs his belly. "I feel dreadful."

For all Hannibal reveres fine cuisine, he is not typically a glutton. A perfect mouthful is more important to him than a plateful of mediocre fare. It just happened that apparently Bocuse's offerings consisted of _many_ perfect mouthfuls, and he's been eating much less decadent food these last few years. He's unaccustomed to such richness.

"You have a food hangover," Will says. He digs out a pair of his sweatpants and tosses them to Hannibal along with a loose sweater. "I'm gonna go pick you up a diet ginger ale in the bar. You can drink it on the road."

 

* * *

 

**Le Shopping**

 

The Ikea in Lyon looks more or less the same as the one in Baltimore where Will once bought all his towels and sheets. That is to say, it looks like an enormous maze cleverly and efficiently designed to sell the maximum amount of stuff to the maximum number of people. Will doesn't love the crush of crowds now anymore than he did back in Baltimore, but there's no better or cheaper place to buy everything they need.

Plus he just kinda wanted to see Hannibal Lecter in an Ikea.

Hannibal picks up his head and sniffs. "Why does the air smell like lingonberries and mass-produced gravy?"

"That's the cafeteria," Will says. "We'll circle back around when we're done shopping."

"I won't be hungry," Hannibal says. "I ate enough for a week last night."

"Trust me," Will says as he pulls a shopping cart loose from its column. "Nobody gets out of Ikea without working up an appetite."

After a quick ride up in the elevator, they come to the living room section of the showroom floor. Will is immediately drawn to a fuzzy blanket draped over the back of a black sofa. He picks it up and rubs it against his cheek.

"Will, _no_."

"It'll be nice to have for a nap on the sofa," Will says.

"It looks like a remnant of fabric from Jim Henson's workshop floor," Hannibal says.

"It does _not_ look like Muppet skin," Will says and makes a note of the tag so he can pick up one in the market area downstairs. He forges ahead despite Hannibal's protestations.

He ignores the living room storage offerings, and the assorted home office displays before they get into the kitchen and dining areas.

"I'm pretty sure the rental comes with cookware," he says. "Do you want to pick up a frying pan or casserole dish just in case, though? Hey, look, this little pot is only six euros. It comes with a lid."

"I will divorce you here and now if you make me cook with a six-euro pot," Hannibal says.

"Didn't you cook on a camping stove in prison?" Will asks. "And anyway, we're not married yet."

"Then I will unaccept your proposal," Hannibal warns.

Will shrugs and makes note of the tag on the pot. "Have it your way! Plenty for me to do as a single man in France!"

He maneuvers the cart through a group of what appears to be two large families whose children have gotten into some kind of screaming fight with one another. There are balloons and tears and snot flowing like rivers. The crowd reluctantly parts before him, then zips closed behind him, cutting off Hannibal before he can follow.

Hannibal eventually catches up to him in the bedroom section. "I didn't say I _am_ unaccepting your proposal," he says. "Only that I _would_. Will—what are you doing? Stop touching that thing."

Will, currently running his hands over a gray plaid duvet set, glances up at Hannibal. "Why?"

"I can see how rough it is from here. It looks like it would scrape the barnacles off our old boat."

"It just needs a little fabric softener," Will says. He lowers his voice so the other shoppers nearby can't hear. "We slept on far worse when we were on the run."

"We didn't have a _choice_ ," Hannibal says.

Will notes the information on the tag and moves on to another part of the bedroom area.

"The wedding is off," Hannibal says, trailing after him. "For real!"

"We can get an extra pillow sham," Will says. "Use it to cover Cephi's bed so it matches ours."

Hannibal is obviously trying to stay upset, but simply can't where their dog is involved. "Fine. The wedding is back on. But if she develops a rash from that fabric, I will hold you accountable."

Although there's absolutely _nothing_ they need in the children's furnishings department, Will wheels their cart in that direction anyway. He has to admit, for all that he loves Hannibal, a part of him will always want to make him squirm. Sometimes —  _most_ of the times — the squirming will be as a result of Will's ongoing seductions. But not this time. _This_ time is to satisfy his own curiosity. How can he possibly pass up a chance to see Hannibal in these surroundings? He can't.

Hannibal sticks close by him as four children, holding hands, run past them making assorted train noises. Another child stands wailing on a bed, the string of a popped balloon still clutched in his fingers.

"I don't recall Dante ever writing about _this_ particular circle of hell," Hannibal says.

Will feels ever so slightly guilty. "Try to put it out of your mind," Will says. "You were able to ignore prison walls for three years."

"There weren't screaming children everywhere and the pervasive odor of gravy," Hannibal says. He looks down at himself. "And I wasn't wearing sweatpants! I had to let the drawstring out, Will!"

Will picks up Hannibal's hand to kiss his knuckles, but he doesn't feel so guilty that he wants to end their shopping trip. "C'mon. I'll let you pick out the shower curtains."

***

Hannibal mulls over the selection of shower curtains for longer than anyone normally would or should or, really, _could_.

"Not one of these makes me look forward to showering," he says. "The bath should be a retreat."

"Our bath is a place to fuck," Will says, "or to wash up _after_ fucking."

"That doesn't mean it can't be pleasing to the senses," Hannibal says. He glares at a curtain with splotches of color. "You know I consider myself an artist with a trained eye, and yet I cannot tell if these are supposed to be abstract ice cream cones or some other nonsensical thing entirely."

Will squints at the curtain in question. "I think it's just a random design. Look, what about these?" He points out a striped set. "Kind of reminds you of the curtains in your old office, doesn't it?"

"It most certainly does not," Hannibal says. "I had my draperies custom designed and made. The hems were stitched by hand with silk thread so as to be invisible."

"I just meant they're stripey," Will says, rolling his eyes.

"Fine," Hannibal huffs. "We'll get the striped ones."

Returning to the ground floor, Will begins to fill their shopping cart with the items he noted earlier, along with a few other things. Hannibal's discomfort is visible as he watches Will tossing in an assortment of nylon ladles and salad tongs made of bright green plastic.

"I think we only really need two sets of sheets," Will says. He holds up a few packages. "I lean towards getting plain white since they're easier to bleach, and God knows we can get a bit messy. Or a lot messy. You come like a fire hydrant sometimes."

"White is fine," Hannibal says. He takes one of the packages from him and shoves it back onto the shelf. "But for both our sake, opt for the higher thread count. You know I don't oppose a little roughhousing in bed, but we might as well take a box grater to our knees and buttocks if you go too far with your bargain-hunting endeavors."

"We should get a box grater—for the kitchen," Will says, and adds the nicer sheets to their cart.

***

He parks their cart next to a table in the café and waits for Hannibal to catch up in a dazed sort of shuffle.

"Do you truly mean for us to eat here?" Hannibal asks. "The wedding is off again."

"We've been shopping for five hours," Will says, ignoring him. "Aren't you a little bit hungry?"

"We can go eat with Monsieur Paul again," Hannibal says.

Will guides him the rest of the way to the table and pulls out a chair for him. "You'll just overindulge again, so... no."

Hannibal bristles, but sits down in the strangely tiny chair. "So what if I do overindulge on occasion?"

Will huffs out an aggravated sigh. "You were so stuffed last night, you didn't even want to make out with me before passing out. At one point in your sleep, you belched so loudly that Cephi woke up howling."

Hannibal's cheeks color and he glances away. "Fine. The wedding is back on."

Will snorts. "Yeah, we'll see about that. You just sit there and I'll get you something."

The cruel thing would be to get him the salmon burger and chips. The _funny_ thing would be to get him meatless veggie balls, so that's what he does. "Avec brocolis et haricots verts," he says to the server behind the counter. His gaze falls upon the tub of gravy in the steamer tray. "Aussi, avec plus de sauce, s'il vous plaît." He mimes pouring on a lot of gravy to get his point across in case he's said anything wrong.

When Will sets their tray down on the table, Hannibal greets it with a stony expression.

" _What_ are _those_." He sniffs. "It smells like... peas."

"I think the balls are made of peas," Will says. "At least in part. Do you not like peas?"

"Fresh from the pod," Hannibal says. His upper lip twitches. "Not tortured and contorted into some sort of... indecent vegetarian _mimicry_."

Will hands him a set of cutlery. "Tuck in. You need some veggies. The only plant you ate last night was in that passion fruit reduction."

Hannibal glares, but stabs one of the boulettes and jams it into his mouth. His expression softens just barely, and just for a moment, before the severity of his glaring comes roaring back. His eyes burn with the ferocity of an angered beast.

Will pops one into his own mouth and chews. "You kinda like it and it kinda makes you furious, huh? Wanna serve some at our wedding reception?"

Hannibal stabs another one. "What wedding reception? I unaccept your proposal. Again."

Will laughs into his hand to keep half a veggie ball from leaping out of his mouth and onto the table.

 

* * *

 

**Après le Shopping**

 

Will watches local news on the hotel room's TV, picking up a little over half of it now that his French is improving. It's enough to know they weren't recognized today in all the crowds, and anyway who would ever believe the Chesapeake Ripper was shopping in an Ikea? In France, where there's so much elevated shopping to be had?

Cephi snores softly in her bed on the floor, worn out from her stay at the daycare. It makes Will wonder if they should try to adopt a second dog. It would be harder to travel, but she certainly seems to love the canine company. She must miss it sometimes, Will thinks, from having spent so much time in Argentina with a dozen playmates.

He clicks off the TV when Hannibal emerges from the bathroom, still pink and damp from his long shower. He runs a towel over his hair, leaving the rest of his body exposed.

Will makes appreciative noises. "You look good enough to eat."

Hannibal groans. "Don't mention eating just yet. I think those _pea_ balls aren't sitting well with me."

"Oh sure, it was the balls," Will says. "And not the entire flock of geese's worth of foie gras last night. Or the lobster. Or the cake."

"The cake was—"

"Very small," Will finishes for him.

Hannibal hangs the towel on the door and crawls into bed beside him. "I think I feel well enough to make out with my fiance," he says. He leans into Will's space, parting his lips, waiting.

Will pulls back just slightly. "I thought the wedding was off."

Hannibal blinks, the picture of innocence. "Oh, is it?"

"It was hard to keep track," Will allows. "But I could've sworn we left off with you calling things off."

"I wasn't in my right mind," Hannibal says. He scoots closer, wrapping his arms around Will's waist. "Blame it on the food hangover."

"Works for me," Will says, and kisses him, and keeps on kissing him until they fall asleep.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. If you've never been to an Ikea, you cannot imagine the sheer scale of these places. From what I gather, they seem to be laid out pretty much the same everywhere you go. The menu is mostly the same in every location, although I did double check the French Ikea website to make sure.
> 
> 2\. Here are a few of the items they bought or considered:
> 
> Anncharlotte throw https://www.ikea.com/fr/fr/catalog/products/20399310/  
> Annons pot https://www.ikea.com/fr/fr/catalog/products/80298474/  
> Smalruta duvet cover https://www.ikea.com/fr/fr/catalog/products/60416685/#/30416696  
> Doftklint shower curtain https://www.ikea.com/fr/fr/catalog/products/70322177/  
> VADSJÖN https://www.ikea.com/fr/fr/catalog/products/10349066/  
> Idealisk grater https://www.ikea.com/fr/fr/catalog/products/66916200/
> 
> 3\. Thank you, Shukkhy, for the idea and for delighting in Hannibal's torture with me.
> 
> 4\. Thank you, everyone who reads this. I apologize in advance if I don't reply to your comments, but I read them all and they mean a lot to me. I'm better at updating fics than I am at replying.


End file.
